The Chatroom
We in the Southeast are very lucky. We live in a temperate climate, have a wonderfully scenic coastline and are conveniently near the continent. (Not so during WW2, it was called Hell Fire Corner for good purpose. What is shown on the news clips and movie films is nothing to what as a teenager my generation witnessed.) I digress.
We four met on a ferry to France. It was an organised trip; a first for the other three, my third I think. Barry, a supervisor on a north sea oil rig, David, a lorry driver recently out of the RAF as a driver, Mike, owner of a steel supply company and me, an OAP. Bikes - a Fireblade, an early Yam XJ, a BMW, and mine at the time, a CBR600. The ten day trip went well, with David and Mike doing all the map and route reading.
One evening was particularly good for some. The hotel was beside a lake, a delightful spot. Other guests there were from Holland and it resulted in a sing song that lasted well into the next morning between Holland and England - Golfers versus Motorcyclists! The only winner was the Bar Till which stayed open for us. That was some ten years ago. Since then we have done many tours together. They are now familiar with the roads of Kent and Sussex having come down from well north of London, sometimes staying-over here which is also handy for the channel ports and train.
One trip we will never forget, when one of the four got rather happy the evening before. The ferry left at seven a.m. so we had to be up early. How we got him to the terminal on his bike was a marvel. He slept on the ferry. Our first stop was the Block House just off the A26 (It being a V2 building and launching complex.) about twenty miles into France. On arrival he lay down on the grass and went to sleep again. We left him there and toured the site for about one and a half hours. On returning, we found he had not moved. No sign of breathing, no pulse we could feel. We were very worried and wondering what to do. One Corpse + Big Bike in a strange country. It did not look good. After about half an hour of ponder and near panic the corpse sneezed. He did manage to ride after some black coffee, and we kept him well away from alcohol for the rest of the day. Feeeeww!
Mike is a qualified pilot and we all have had quite a lot of flights to Le Touquet. It is a very nice run on the bikes as well, keepingto the coast road. The beach race in Le Touquet each March is well worth a trip. The town is completely taken over by motorcycles for those who have not seen it. To see and hear them start off in Casino Square is great, but then you have to get to the beach smartly to get a good vantage point. I cannot imagine a high quality seaside resort over here being as accommodating to us bikers, but the continentals have not got this snobbish hang-up that prevails in this country.
We have also had some hilarious moments, like the Belgium restaurant. David who has no inhibitions, thought he had ordered steak. The waiter, who spoke no English was asked in David’s international speak, what the meat was he was served. This consisted of pointing and making chicken, cockerdoodals, moo’s, grunt’s and baa sounds, much to the delight of the diner’s at the adjacent tables, some of who had tears on their cheeks. The waiter obliged by making grunt’s. It turned out to be Belgium Boar. We all enjoyed our meal and left the waiter a rather generous tip, who then dashed over to open and hold the door for us as we left, all to the applause and calls of bravo from our fellow diners. The baby’s dummy episode is far to long to write about! We are very lucky to live in the Southeast, the sad part is, it’s too over crowded.
Lets leave the Tin Box jockeys to road rage at each other, “cos” we all know don’t we, You really do meet the nicest people on a Motorcycle.
Be vigilant out there,
Mr. R. Foreman.